An Ode to Female Students
A million things to do in a single day
Multi tasking is our way
Of cooking, washing, cleaning,
Scrubbing, reading, studying
Hanging, drying, stirring, oh
And not forgetting …prioritizing!
A man is asked for a helping hand
That’s what we get – a hand - no more, no less
One job equates, in a woman’s mind, ten of kind.
What can one expect?
They don’t look, don’t know how to cook
They wait to be asked, to be told; by then dinner’s cold.
Oh well - a man’s worth his weight in gold
Or so we’re told.
We are women, efficient and fast
Men are men, slow moving and are the last
To catch on to what’s required of them but
They can do the things that we can’t,
Open lids that are tight, lift things that might
Be too heavy for us to carry and such
However…
We get tired of work – at least of house chores.
We come alive at our desks and start writing prose
And poetry and verse,
Creating, imagining, dreaming and striving
To fill our minds and our inclinations
To do the things that really matter to us.
Writing poems or stories with sublime fabrication,
Life writing about self or another of acclaim
Or just some ordinary mortal who does not attain
To fame or to fortune but lives life doing the things
That an author picks up in biographical creation.
In the knowledge we seek there is a key
That unlocks all the doors to our curiosity.
Why spend time at the sink when there is time to think?
To reason, to wonder, to obtain qualifications
That means nothing to others’ imaginations?
Relations, friends who can’t understand our quest
Find us boring when we try to gain their interest
To help us achieve this unreasonable (to them) goal,
This to us is far more important than the kitchen bowl,
With washing up, drying up, putting away and storing
Crockery, cutlery, dishes and jugs that do pouring
These mundane things that have to be done by us,
Could they not be done by another without any fuss?
How can one compare these household chores and agree
That they are more fulfilling than studying and obtaining a degree?
A million things to do in a single day
Multi tasking is our way
Of cooking, washing, cleaning,
Scrubbing, reading, studying
Hanging, drying, stirring, oh
And not forgetting …prioritizing!
A man is asked for a helping hand
That’s what we get – a hand - no more, no less
One job equates, in a woman’s mind, ten of kind.
What can one expect?
They don’t look, don’t know how to cook
They wait to be asked, to be told; by then dinner’s cold.
Oh well - a man’s worth his weight in gold
Or so we’re told.
We are women, efficient and fast
Men are men, slow moving and are the last
To catch on to what’s required of them but
They can do the things that we can’t,
Open lids that are tight, lift things that might
Be too heavy for us to carry and such
However…
We get tired of work – at least of house chores.
We come alive at our desks and start writing prose
And poetry and verse,
Creating, imagining, dreaming and striving
To fill our minds and our inclinations
To do the things that really matter to us.
Writing poems or stories with sublime fabrication,
Life writing about self or another of acclaim
Or just some ordinary mortal who does not attain
To fame or to fortune but lives life doing the things
That an author picks up in biographical creation.
In the knowledge we seek there is a key
That unlocks all the doors to our curiosity.
Why spend time at the sink when there is time to think?
To reason, to wonder, to obtain qualifications
That means nothing to others’ imaginations?
Relations, friends who can’t understand our quest
Find us boring when we try to gain their interest
To help us achieve this unreasonable (to them) goal,
This to us is far more important than the kitchen bowl,
With washing up, drying up, putting away and storing
Crockery, cutlery, dishes and jugs that do pouring
These mundane things that have to be done by us,
Could they not be done by another without any fuss?
How can one compare these household chores and agree
That they are more fulfilling than studying and obtaining a degree?
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A Calligram
I
fly
high
up
in
the
sky.
At certain times of the year I travel for thousands of miles.
I fly with many of my kind to far distant climes.
We can alight on land and on water too.
My neck is quite long;
Feathers white and
greyish/blue.
A bird I am.
But what
and
who
am I?
I am the
Snow Goose.
A Calligram
I
fly
high
up
in
the
sky.
At certain times of the year I travel for thousands of miles.
I fly with many of my kind to far distant climes.
We can alight on land and on water too.
My neck is quite long;
Feathers white and
greyish/blue.
A bird I am.
But what
and
who
am I?
I am the
Snow Goose.
5 comments:
I like that! Is that what a calligram is - a poem written to make a shape?
Hi Jumbalooyah
Yes, it is a poem using words to make a shape. Takes a bit of doing but being a designer you should have a go.
A message to Helen Renaux. I have just found your blog and have left a comment on your amazing video of Tiger Attack. I see from another comment that you have written your "Raj Memoirs" and would like to read it. I too have written and published my memoirs in a book " IN THOSE DAYS --A Scrapbook of growing up in India in the Days of the Raj", and have a website for it. www.raj-memories.co.uk which you might like to see?
Justine, I will most certainly read your blog and great that you have published. I have not yet completed my manuscript. It is in epistolary form and addressed to my grandchildren for posterity. Great days! I am studying 'Post Colonial Literatures in English - readings and interpretations'. Would love to put in my own thoughts, but unfortunately it is all research and critical analysis. HR
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